Not My Billy !
by Halcris
Summary: Help from an unexpected source set Bodie and Doyle onto the track of a long-wanted villain.


**Not My Billy.** !

The Biggenford family were the scourge of Walthamstow !

Ma Biggenford, not a big lady, but about as broad as she was tall, ruled her brood of five sons with a rod of iron.

All were villains, in varying degrees, and there was rarely a time when one or other of them wasn't away at 'Her Majesty's Pleasure'. The police knew them all well.

Ma's husband had been a very efficient burglar, pulling off many lucrative jobs, before his life was cut short in prison, by a fellow inmate's knife.

The eldest son, Tim, had followed in father's footsteps. He was a skilled 'catman', executing many clever night excursions, and bringing home 'spoils' that kept the family in funds. Ma Biggenford had several fences well under her thumb, who disposed of stuff quickly for her, and asked no questions.

Two more of her sons, Sam and Peter, had a widespread extortion racket going, terrorising local shops and businesses. Fred was a bookmaker with dubious connections to fraudsters in racing circles.

The baby of the brood, Billy, only just twenty years old, was the 'favourite' of the family, spoilt rotten by his mother and four elder brothers.

He had actually started on a legitimate apprenticeship at a garage in Lewisham. But things he had learned there had sent him off to start a different way of life, just like his brothers. Billy could 'hotwire' almost any make of car, and was beginning a career, stealing special ones 'to order'.

But he was the one who was currently in prison, having slipped up badly on his last exploit. He had picked up a new black Cortina, and was driving off with it. But the owner, a police officer, was just being dropped off home by a fellow officer. They saw the car go and immediately gave chase. So Billy was stopped and caught before he had gone much more than a mile.

He was at present on remand in Bedford, awaiting trial. The family were hoping that as he was young and innocent-looking, and would plead 'first offence', that he would get off lightly.

Bedford Remand Centre was having a particularly busy spell. One Monday morning they had eight prisoners to take to London, for trials in various different courts.

So they decided to use the mini-bus instead of the customary van. As was the practice when they did this, the men were hand-cuffed in pairs, before being loaded into the vehicle, the idea being that if by some fluke some escaped, the pairing would hamper their flight and facilitate their quick re-capture. The choice of pairing was random, based purely on the alphabetical list in the senior officer's hand.

So it was that Billy Biggenford found himself linked to one Simon Awkhurst, a real villain going to face trial as leader of a gang that had raided a security-van delivering to a bank, an exploit which had involved the death of a guard, and injury to several innocent bank customers.

The four pairs were loaded into the minibus, and the convoy set off with a police car leading the way.. Among the pairs there was some desultory conversation as some of them had shared cells.

But Awkhurst didn't deign even to acknowledge Billy's existence. He had a perpetual scowl on his face, and stared fixedly out of one of the small windows.

The driver knew the route well, and all was going smoothly. There was very little traffic about. The road ahead was clear, and the only other vehicle in sight was a black van almost a hundred yards behind.

Then it all changed !

A large lorry suddenly shot out of a side road, straight in front of the mini-bus, cutting it off from the police car in front.

At the same time the black van came up at speed. Three masked and armed men jumped out of it, pulling open the doors of the mini-bus and menacing the driver and the accompanying guard.

Meanwhile the driver of the black van executed a swift 3-point turn and backed up, ready for a quick getaway.

The three men came in and grabbed Awkhurst, pulling him out of his seat. They seemed a little taken aback to find he was handcuffed to another man. They clearly hadn't expected that, but it didn't stop them. They had come for Awkhurst, and perforce had to take Billy as well. They hustled the pair out of the bus and into the black van. They were joined quickly by the driver of the obstructing lorry. The doors were slammed shut and it sped off back the way it had come, just as the police from the car in front came climbing round the large vehicle blocking their way.

They quickly secured the remaining prisoners, and summoned back-up, but could do nothing about the pair so cleverly snatched away.

The Biggenfords had turned out in force to attend Billy's trial. They filled the front row of the visitor's gallery, and settled down to wait, discouraging anyone else who tried to sit near them.

Ma Biggenford had hired a clever young lawyer to handle Billy's defence. He was instructed to 'lay it on thick' about Billy's youth, and plea of 'first offence', in the hope of getting him treated leniently.

Ma Biggenford and her four hulking sons had virtually taken over the front of the public gallery, as they leant on the rail, scowling at the scene below, waiting for proceedings to begin.

According to the information they had been given, Billy's case was first on the list. Imagine their dismay when a strange man was ushered up the steps and into the dock, and a totally different case was started.

They caused quite a disturbance as they exited 'en masse', and went looking for someone to tell them what had happened to delay Billy's trial.

But the clever young barrister, who had been told the reason for his client's non-appearance, had made himself scarce. He wasn't going to be the one who told Ma Biggenford and her 'boys' why Billy hadn't arrived at the court.

The family tried hard to find an answer, without success. Most of those they accosted and spoke to just didn't know what had happened, and those that did know did their best to make themselves unavailable, as they had been instructed to keep quiet about it.

Frustrated and vociferously annoyed, the Biggenfords eventually left and went home. The only thing they had been told was that the trial would not happen that day.

They immediately started enquiries among their vast number of contacts, but learned nothing

A D-notice had been slapped onto the information, and instructions had been given that nothing was to be leaked, especially not to the 'press'.

Several days passed, and then Billy Biggenford surfaced, literally surfaced in the muddy waters of the river Thames !

Identification was a little difficult at first, as the body had been in the water for a while, but police interest was taken at once by the presence of a set of handcuffs, one cuff attached to the body, and the other unlocked and open. It didn't take them long to put two and two together, and contact with the Bedford Remand Centre at once confirmed their suspicions.

Two officers from there immediately came to London, to the morgue, They instantly identified both the set of cuffs and the attached body. A police report on this soon found its way onto Cowley's desk.

An officer from the Met. got the unenviable task of breaking the news to the Biggenfords. Knowing the family well, he made sure he didn't go alone.

Needless to say, the Biggenfords did not take the news gently. Wailing loudly, Ma Biggenford ranted and raved, berating the two officers who had come to tell her she had lost her 'baby boy'.

"How could that happen ?," she demanded shrilly. "He was in police custody, wasn't he ?."

So the officer in charge, had, very reluctantly, been forced to give them some explanation of what had happened. How Awkhurst had been 'sprung' by some gang, and how, because they had been 'paired' the rescuers had had to take Billy too.

Then the two of them left as quickly as they could, thanking their lucky stars that they had got off lightly. They had seen the anger mounting in the family, and they shot into their patrol car and left at top speed.

Knowing what had happened had not helped the family very much. Ma's initial grief very quickly turned to anger and with it a desire to exact revenge on those to blame. She called her boys together for a 'council of war'.

"It's clear to me," she declared, glaring round the table at her four remaining sons, "Someone has started again that old scam of 'springing' villains and smuggling them out of the country, no doubt for an exorbitant fee. They took Awkhurst because he's a wealthy sod, and threw away my Billy like a bit of rubbish !

"They can't get away with that," snarled her eldest boy. "We've got to find them !."

A chorus of assent came from the other three. They immediately set about planning to talk to all their many contacts in the criminal underworld. Somehow they would find out who was doing this and then the culprits would feel the full weight of the Biggenfords ! They were determined to avenge the death of their baby brother.

The criminal fraternity all knew about the scheme that had landed Boardman and his drivers in jail. (See The Best Laid Plans).

When it had ended, a few might even have considered trying to copy it, as it had been very lucrative. But they didn't continue with the idea. Though some of them could have managed to organize the first part, getting people out of prison, there was no-one with the skills that the man known as Shroeder had used, disguising the men as drivers.

But they were interested in the rumour that the old scheme had started up again. However nobody had any information about that as yet, and no-one had any idea about Shroeder's current name, appearance or whereabouts, for he used his skill to disguise himself also.

So the extensive enquiries made by the Biggenford boys were not producing any results. But some days later, they had a slight breakthrough. Tim Biggenford had been talking to a driver he knew, and the man had come up with something.

"I don't know if it's significant," he said, "but just recently I've noticed a man about, that I remember from years ago. He wasn't a driver then, but he used to hang about a lot with Boardman and his drivers."

"What's his name ?," demanded Tim eagerly.

"I can't recall," replied the driver, "but I'll find out and get back to you."

And he kept his word. A few days later, he contacted Tim again. "His name's Lannigan," he informed him, "He's a driver now, and works for a small firm, Wilson's. It's only been going about a year, so I don't know much about it."

"Thank you for that much," said Tim. "We'll follow it up and see if it gets us anywhere."

He hurried back to his mother and brothers and passed on what he had learned.

"Shall we grab Lannigan ?," said Peter Biggenford excitedly. "I'd soon make him talk !," he added, clenching his huge fists.

Ma Biggenford smiled indulgently at her son. He was the most aggressive of them all, eager to 'have a go' at anyone who baulked him.

"Steady on, Peter," she admonished him. "We don't know for sure that he's involved. Just because he used to know Boardman's men isn't proof of anything. As I remember, back then you knew a couple of them yourself."

"Yes, you did," confirmed an elder brother. "At the time no-one had any idea what they were up to."

Peter scowled. He badly wanted some action. "What are we going to do then ?," he demanded sulkily.

"We'll play it clever," said his mother. "We'll have a look at Lannigan and Wilson, but very, very cautiously, so they don't get wind of our interest. If we find anything suspicious about them, then we'll think again what to do."

The Biggenford boys found it very hard to be as cautious as their mother demanded. Quick action was more their line. But they made a real effort, including Peter, and by the end of the week they had collected a lot of information about Lannigan, and Wilson's, the firm he was working for. Ma Biggenford kept a small notebook, and wrote down every scrap of information her boys brought to her. She studied its contents very carefully and a plan began to form in her devious mind.

Then one evening, she called another 'council of war'.

Settled at the kitchen table, with a good supply of beer cans, the four brothers waited eagerly to hear what their clever mother had come up with. But her first words left them very disappointed.

"We've learned a lot," she began, tapping her notebook, "but it still only mounts to suspicion. It isn't proof !."

Sounds of protest came from her boys, but she quieted them with an imperious gesture. "I don't think we can do any more," she said, "but I've an idea about someone who might be able to." And she went on to outline her plans, to her intently listening sons.

Doyle parked his car, and walked towards his flat. He was tired. It had been a hard week, and he was looking forward to catching up on a great deal of missed sleep with a nice early night. I hope the lift's working, he thought as he let himself into the foyer of the block of flats.

Then suddenly, he was not alone !

His arms were grabbed by two burly men, inches taller and bigger that him. Then a third stepped into the light and he recognised Tim Biggenford.

"Please don't fight us, Mr. Doyle," said Tim urgently. "We mean you no harm, but Ma needs to talk to you."

Before he could reply he was hustled back out of the door, a few yards along the road, and into the back of a big black car. Tim slipped in beside the driver Peter, and the vehicle moved off quickly. Squashed in the back between his burly captors, Doyle considered his situation. They hadn't taken his gun, or his radio-phone, so he didn't feel quite helpless.

And his curiosity was taking over. He had known about the family in his police days, though he'd never actually had close dealings with any of them.

So what did Ma Biggenford want with him ?

He'd heard about Billy, of course, via Cowley's daily police report, but it could hardly be about that, surely. It might be interesting to find out.

They arrived at the Biggenford residence, and he was ushered in, firmly but not roughly. A few moments later found him sitting at one end of the long kitchen table, facing Ma Biggenford at the other end, and her four sons ranged two either side.

Doyle was still wary, but as there had been no attempt by any of them to search or restrain him, he decided to play it cool, and to see what they wanted of him.

As he met Ma's eye, he spoke up boldly. "I heard about Billy," he said, "I am really sorry."

"Thank you," said Ma shortly. She looked down at the small notebook lying on the table in front of her.

"A couple of years ago," she began, "You were involved when Boardman and several of his drivers were arrested for taking part in a scheme to smuggle escaped villains out of the country."

"They're still in jail," commented Peter. His mother silenced him with a glare at his interruption, and continued.

"But he wasn't the brains behind the scheme," she said, "He only organised his lorries. The clever man who did the rest of it was never found."

Doyle didn't offer a comment, though what she had said was very true.

Ma lifted her gaze to look directly at Doyle, meeting his eye with her bold stare. "We think he's started up again," she declared.

Again Doyle made no comment. It wasn't his place to tell her that C.I.5 had the same suspicion.

"We think that Awkhurst was sprung because he's rich enough to 'pay his fare'," she went on, "They didn't expect to have to take Billy too, so they just got rid of him."

"They killed my brother !," yelled Peter angrily. His brothers nodded their agreement to his outburst.

"We want to find who is to blame," said Tim in a calmer tone.

Their mother waved a placating hand at them, silencing them. "We've been talking to a lot of people," she continued, "and we think we might have found a suspect."

She gave Doyle a very direct look. "We can't do any more," she declared, "But C.I.5 might be able to."

She picked up the notebook and slid it down the table to within Doyle's reach.

"It's all in there," she said, "Take it and use it. It might give you a result."

Somewhat astonished, Doyle closed his fingers on the book and picked it up.

Ma was getting to her feet. "Tim will run you back now," she said. "Please try, Mr. Doyle," she said earnestly. "If they killed my Billy, we want them caught."

As Tim dropped him off back outside his block of flats, Doyle had one last word for the Biggenfords.

"I can't promise anything," he said, waving the little notebook, "But I will read this and see if it's worth looking into."

As it was getting later than he had intended, he quickly got ready and slipped into bed, taking the little notebook with him. As he read the information there his interest grew. I'll take this to Cowley in the morning, he resolved.

Suddenly the quiet was disrupted by the shrill ringing of his phone.

Oh, no, he thought ! After the busy week we've just had, surely Cowley's not calling us out again tonight. He was relieved when the voice he heard was not Cowley's, but that of his partner Bodie.

"Are you alright ?," asked Bodie, an anxious tone in his voice.

"Yes. Why ?," queried Doyle, rather puzzled.

"You said you were going to have an early night," replied his friend, "but when I rang a little while ago there was no answer, and you weren't in the car, either. I was just considering whether I needed to raise the alarm."

"I did have to go out for a bit," admitted Doyle. He was too tired to tell his friend the whole story now. It could wait till he recounted it to his boss tomorrow.

"Anything interesting,?," asked Bodie curiously.

"Nothing to concern you," replied Doyle wearily.

"As long as you're O.K," said a relieved Bodie, "Good night, then. See you in the morning."

Doyle stirred his cooling cocoa, and continued his reading.

Bodie can be a nosey so-and-so, sometimes thought Doyle. But then he quickly retracted the thought. His friend had only been showing a bit of concern, watching his back even though they were 'off-duty'. A re-assuring thought.

He finished the last of the notes, and put the book down. There might be something in this, was his last thought, as he pulled up the covers, turned off the bedside lamp, and snuggled down. Interesting as it was, it didn't keep him from the restoring sleep he urgently needed.

He woke in the morning feeling much better. As he showered and dressed and got himself a bit of breakfast, he worked out the details of the tale he'd have to tell his boss.

Bodie caught up with his mate as they parked their cars, and walked towards the entrance to C.I.5's Headquarters. "So what was so urgent you had to go out ?," he asked, still curious.

"If you can wait a bit longer till we get in to see the boss," replied Doyle, "I'll tell you both together."

As they were called in to Cowley's office, Doyle got straight to the point. "I need a word, sir," he said, "I think this is really important."

Cowley gave his agent a shrewd look, noting how serious he looked. "Go ahead," he said.

"Last night," Doyle began, "I was abducted by the Biggenford boys."

This startling opening grabbed the attention of his listeners, but he hurried on before they could comment.

"They said that Ma Biggenford needed to talk to me, so I went along with it, and was taken to their place. The family are very upset by Billy's death, and are out to get whoever is responsible. They have got the idea that the scheme to smuggle villains out of the country has started up again."

This time Cowley did interrupt. "You didn't tell them we had the same idea, did you ?," he snapped

"No, of course not," replied Doyle, "I didn't tell them anything at all. But they've been doing some investigating of their own, and they've produced some interesting information." He indicated the little notebook in his hand.

"It's mostly about a man called Lannigan. Apparently when Boardman and his men were active, he was often seen with them. He wasn't picked up in our investigations because then he wasn't a driver. But he is one now, and working for a small firm called Wilson's. A firm that's only been going about a year, but has picked up several of the contracts lost by Boardman, and also a couple of his drivers."

"Boardman told us all he could at the time," said Bodie, "but he never mentioned anyone called Lannigan."

"No," agreed Doyle, "but he did tell us a lot about a young man called Smith, who was a go-between for Shroeder, and often brought his instructions to Boardman."

"And Smith's a very commonly used false name," said Bodie, and Doyle nodded.

Cowley joined in the discussion. "So you think Lannigan might be Smith ?," he said.

"Well, he and Shroeder disappeared, and we never found either of them," replied Doyle.

"This is getting interesting," commented Bodie, as his mate went on

"There's an address for Lannigan. It seems he's currently living in a rented flat with his boss Wilson.. And there's a bit about him too. He only came on the scene when he started up the firm."

"Could he be the missing Shroeder ?," said Bodie excitedly.

"Steady on, Bodie," said Doyle. "You're jumping to conclusions without proof."

He turned to his boss and handed him the notebook."But I do think there's a lot there that's worth a bit of checking, sir," he said earnestly.

Cowley took the little book and flicked through the pages thoughtfully. He had let his two best men carry on talking to see what their re-actions were, but all final decisions would be his, of course.

"I agree," he said at last. "Leave it with me for the moment. I'll have a good look at all that's in there."

"Can't we get out and start checking ?," asked Bodie eager for some action.

"No," said his boss firmly. "I don't want either of you on this yet. If it is them, they'd recognise you, and then disappear again. I'll put someone on it that won't cause them to be suspicious."

"Bodie looked disappointed, but saw the sense in his clever boss's words.

"Don't worry," Cowley said, knowing his man well. "If it is them, then you'll be on it immediately."

Doyle had been looking thoughtful and came up with a suggestion. "A photograph might help identify Lannigan/Smith", he said. "Not much help with Shroeder though. Very few people ever saw him."

"Now that is something you can do," said Cowley. "Get one of our best photographers to produce a nice clear picture of Lannigan for you, and take it to visit Boardman in prison. As I remember, he was very annoyed that Shroeder and Smith got away 'scot free', so he's likely to be co-operative."

Cowley waved the little notebook he was still holding. "But that can wait," he said firmly, "till I have had all this carefully checked. We won't lose anything by taking our time over it."

He turned to a folder on his desk and pulled out a couple of pages. "Meantime you can have a look at this. There's a small shop just opened up in Brixton. Ostensibly a video rental hire place, run by a young lady apparently confined to a wheel-chair."

"There's lots of outlets like that," commented Bodie. "What's special about this one ?"

"Two things," replied Cowley. "First its odd hours of business. It doesn't open till midday, and stays open till midnight. Her brother comes in to help in the evening, Secondly it has a great many young customers, and the look of some of them suggests they get more than rented videos."

"Ah, a drug outlet !," said Doyle.

"Yes," said his boss., "But I want you to check further than just the shop. We want the dealer and the supplier."

"The bigger fish. We understand," said Bodie, taking the information sheets held out to him.

The pair left quickly and made their way down to the yard. As they got into their car and drove out, Bodie had a sudden thought. "Do you reckon the boss put us on this, just to get us out of the way ?," he asked his partner.

"Probably," replied Doyle, grinning at his mate.

"But it makes sense though," he added, "After all this time, and a promising lead, it would be a pity if we cocked it up by being impatient. But don't worry. It's got his interest, and he won't let it go now."

He swung the Capri skilfully through the traffic. "Come on," he said cheerfully, "We've got a stake-out to set up."

"Stake-outs can be so boring," complained Bodie petulantly.

"Not always," relied Doyle, "Besides a nice leisurely one can be as good as a rest."

Arriving at the site, they were lucky enough to find a convenient empty room above another shop almost opposite. They set up the equipment they had collected on their way out and settled down to watch and wait. After mid-day they had plenty to look at, as a steady stream of customers came and went from the video shop opposite. During the afternoon it was mainly older people, mothers with children picking up a film to keep the youngsters amused, and pensioners choosing their evening's entertainment.

But as the evening came they began to see more youngsters, and among them faces they knew and could put a name to. As they had been told, these were addicts that were already known to the authorities. So it looked as if the rumours about the place might well be true. So they were alert, watching out for anyone they could identify as a dealer or a 'pusher'.

The second day followed a similar pattern to start with, but during the afternoon, they spotted a visitor that they did recognise, a man long suspected of being a dealer with contacts to a known racketeer. Doyle got on the phone and passed that information on.

But later on, in the evening, they received a communication that surprised them. They were told to be ready to leave, as Anson and Lake would be taking over the stake-out. Instead they were to report to Cowley's office, early next morning.

"I wonder what's come up ?," said Doyle as the other two agents breezed in and took over, leaving them with an earlier 'off-duty' than they had expected.

So they arrived at Headquarters promptly next morning, looking forward to having their curiosity answered.

Cowley was waiting for them, sitting at his desk with the little black notebook in front of him. He picked it up and waved it at them.

"I've had this carefully checked," he said, "and all it tells us is perfectly true."

"So it is promising ?," said Doyle, with more than a hint of excitement in his voice.

"Very promising," agreed his boss. "But we're still taking it very cautiously till we get something that is positive proof."

He looked at the two interested faces before him. "But today you can take a step in that direction," he said, picking up a large brown envelope. "In here you have a selection of photographs of both Lannigan and Wilson. Show them to Boardman, and see what re-action you get. You'll find him in Reading Prison. Try some of his drivers, too."

Doyle took the envelope and he and Bodie hurried out. Both had pleased expressions as they shot down the stairs. A bit of action, at last !

They made good time to Reading and parked outside its forbidding doors. Cowley had evidently phoned ahead for them, for they were clearly expected. They were shown into an interview room and told that Boardman would be with them soon.

As Boardman was escorted into the room and directed to a seat, he didn't look too pleased. He hadn't been told who his visitors were, but he immediately recognised this pair as the ones who had put an end to the very lucrative scam he had been involved in.

What did they want ?, he wondered. He wasn't inclined to be co-operative.

But when the curly-haired one, (he'd forgotten their names) opened a large brown envelope, and spread a number of photographs across the table-top, his curiosity was aroused.

But he wasn't going to be friendly yet.

"Come to show me your holiday snaps ?," he growled. But then his eyes took in some of the pictures. He reached out and pulled them towards him, turning them the correct way up as he did so.

"Smith !," he exclaimed picking out several of them and lining them up. "So you've caught up with that little rat at last," he said exultantly.

Bodie and Doyle exchanged glances. Here was the confirmation they needed. Lannigan was Smith !

"What about this one ?," asked Bodie, pushing the pictures of Wilson over to Boardman. He lined the pictures up, but he was gazing at them rather uncertainly.

"I suppose you think that might be Shroeder," he said, catching on quickly.

"Well, is it ?," demanded Bodie eagerly.

"I'm not sure," Boardman replied, doubtfully, "The hair's very different and that moustache. He didn't have that before."

Bodie exchanged a disappointed glance with Doyle, as Boardman went on. "I only saw him a couple of times," he said, "We mostly got our instructions from that cocky youngster, Smith. And sometimes Angelo," he added excitedly. "Now he's the one you ought to ask. He and Shroeder were thick as thieves."

"Is he here ?," asked Doyle.

""No, he's not ," replied Boardman. "He was at first, but he got into trouble fighting another inmate and was shipped out. I don't know where he is now."

"We'll find him," said Doyle, gathering up the pictures.

"Are you going to catch those two now ?," said Boardman eagerly. "They should never have got away so easily. They were as guilty as us, more so really."

"We might have got lucky !," said Bodie cheerfully, earning himself a warning glance from Doyle. Maybe he shouldn't have admitted that. The prison 'grape vine' was extensive, and they didn't want anything getting out that might alert the pair they had their eyes on.

They left and returned to their car.

"We'll take what we've got back to Cowley, said Doyle, "and find out where Angelo is now. Then we can see if he's as helpful as Boardman."

The pair made the journey back to London, and prepared their report for Cowley. He was temporarily out, at a meeting with the Minister. But half an hour later he was back and summoned them into the office.

He was hanging up his coat and hat, before turning back to his desk. But the meeting had gone well, so he was reasonably relaxed.

"Well, how did you get on?," he asked, as he turned to his desk, looking at the folders that had arrived there in his absence.

"Boardman identified Lannigan as Smith," began Bodie.

"But he wasn't quite so sure about Wilson," added Doyle. "He suggested that we try Angelo, who had much more contact with him."

"Angelo is currently in Parkhurst. I checked," said Bodie.

"Good," replied Cowley. "Then you pair can get a bit of sea air, and try him tomorrow. But I don't think you'll find him as compliant as Boardman. As I recall, he was the one who tried to get the two of you drowned."

"Yes, he was," agreed Bodie, "We got very wet !."

The following morning saw the pair of them catching an early ferry to the Isle of Wight. Cowley with his usual efficiency had phoned ahead, so a police car was waiting to take them to Parkhurst. They were ushered into a suitable interview room, and Angelo was fetched and brought to them.

He sauntered into the room looking very arrogant. His expression changed to a scowl as he recognised his visitors. Pushed by the attendant warder, he reluctantly took his place in the seat opposite them.

"What do you want ?, he demanded truculently.

"Just a little chat," replied Doyle in a mild tone. This man was going to be difficult.

Bodie opened the brown envelope and spread the enclosed photographs out on the table.

"We'd like you to have a little look and tell us if you know these men," said Doyle, deliberately keeping his tone mild and friendly.

"I'm not a 'grass'," snarled Angelo. But his curiosity was aroused, and he couldn't resist having a quick glance. And he couldn't control the swift flash of recognition that flashed across his face. He tried to hide it quickly.

"Don't know them," he declared, deliberately looking away.

"Now that's a bit of a 'porky'," said Doyle, "You used to know them very well."

Angelo scowled even more, folding his arms defiantly.

"It was a good scam while it lasted, wasn't it ?, continued Doyle, "and paid pretty well too, didn't it ?. I bet you're missing that good money, aren't you ?."

Doyle looked straight at Angelo. But with his next words, his mild tone had changed. "But they've started up again, and are doing very well." His voice was now hard and incisive. "Living it up, I'd say."

Angelo was taken aback, just as Doyle had hoped.

"What ?," he exclaimed, and turned his gaze back to the pictures lying before him.

"Yes," continued Doyle cleverly, "Call themselves Lannigan and Wilson now, but you knew them by different names then, didn't you ?."

Angelo was shuffling the photographs, straightening them up. "Yes, I did," he said angrily, "and they got clean away. Left the rest of us to carry the can, they did, the lousy sods."

He pulled out the two best pictures from the group, and pointed at them. "That's Smith, the cocky little git, and that's Shroeder. He masterminded it all, and told us what to do."

Bodie and Doyle exchanged triumphant glances.

"Thank you very much, Angelo," said Doyle. "That's just what we wanted to know."

The stunned look on Angelo's face said it all, as he realised he'd been cleverly manipulated. He jumped to his feet and lunged across the table at Doyle. He didn't reach him, as Bodie's strong arm intervened. The warder who'd been standing by the door jumped forward quickly and together they forced the angry man back into his chair.

Angelo slumped disgustedly. "You cunning bastards," he muttered under his breath.

Very satisfied with their morning's work, the pair set off again for the journey back. As they had a little time to wait, they managed to snatch a quick coffee in a very nice little tearoom. Then they boarded the return ferry to cross the Solent. Doyle was content to lean on a rail, to enjoy the sunshine and the sea breeze, and to watch with interest all the maritime activity.

Bodie, in his usual fashion, went off on the prowl, on the look-out for any likely bird to chat to. But at that time of day, he was out of luck, and returned to stand by his partner's side. Doyle had a relaxed, almost dreamy look.

"There's something about the sea," he began.

"Yeah," said Bodie airily, "It's big, and very cold and wet if you land in it."

"Idiot," responded his mate, "No, if you spend most of your life in the busy hustle of a city, there's something uplifting about the sea."

"You old romantic." teased Bodie.

"Maybe," admitted Doyle, "But anyway, I'm enjoying this brief spell."

But all too soon they were back in busy London, and making their way to their boss's office to give him their report. Bodie was especially pleased with their success.

"We're making progress, sir," he said cheerfully.

"Up to a point," said Cowley, in a rather crushing tone.

"I don't understand," said Bodie. "We're now sure that Shroeder and Smith from back then are now known as Wilson and Lannigan."

"Agreed," said Cowley, "and that's a big step forward. But there's no way that Boardman or Angelo will stand up and identify them. And even if they did, the clever lawyers would tear them to shreds as unreliable witnesses."

"So what do we do now ?," asked Bodie, looking a bit crushed.

"We need to catch them actually doing what we know they are doing," said Cowley, "and I've a couple of plans for that."

Bodie cheered up. It sounded as if some action would be forthcoming.

"But not quite yet," said Cowley. "In the meantime, stay with the video shop surveillance, and wait for my summons."

The pair left, feeling a bit deflated.

"I do wish," grumbled Doyle, scowling, "That the boss would give us more details of what he's planning. He's too inclined to keep things to himself."

They made their way to the surveillance point opposite the video shop they were watching. Bodie hated stake-outs, and this one was even more annoying. As the shop didn't open till mid-day, their stint was noon till midnight and that precluded any social life in the evening. Bodie grumbled all afternoon, telling his mate in some detail about the girl he had been planning to see. Doyle was finding it a struggle to keep patience with him, and was not looking forward to many more days on this task.

So he was very pleased when his phone rang the following morning, and he was told that two other agents were taking over the work, and that he and Bodie were to report to Cowley's office instead.

So their hopes were high as they hurried up the stairs. Perhaps they were going to see some action at last.

Cowley was scanning a folder in front of him, quite a well-filled folder, Doyle noticed.

"We've been having a very careful look at Wilson and his activities," he began, "going right back to when he started. We found some interesting details. It appears that every so often Wilson takes a trip by train somewhere to the North."

"Going to arrange his clients," suggested Doyle eagerly.

He got a bit of a scowl for interrupting, but his boss agreed as he continued. "Yes, that seems likely," he said. "But also, Lannigan is a driver, who often takes a night run across to Calais."

He gave his two best agents a straight look, and went on. "I've been waiting for those two details to co-incide, and now they have. This morning Wilson boarded a train to Manchester, and this evening it's Lannigan's turn for the night crossing. So for tonight, their flat is empty !."

Doyle could see where this was going, and didn't like it. But his thoughts were confirmed as his boss handed him the folder.

"So I want you two to do a little bit of a reconnaissance tonight and see what you can discover," he ordered firmly.

"B and E," Doyle exclaimed, rather dismayed, "It's not really our style, sir," he protested.

"Having a look round an empty flat ?," queried Cowley, "Shouldn't be that difficult, should it?. But one word of warning ! Don't remove anything and be very careful to leave no sign that you've been there. We don't want them alerted that we're onto them."

The pair left to plan their mission, having collected details of the address and some about the area round about. The rest room was deserted, so Doyle commandeered the table, clearing the litter of empty cups into the sink. He wiped the surface and then spread out the pages from the folder and studied them.

Bodie meanwhile put the kettle on, and actually began to wash up some cups, (but only two to serve them.)

"Why does it have to be at night ?," he asked, thinking of the date he had planned. "Why can't we go in in daylight, as plumbers or meter readers, or something ?."

"If you'd looked at these plans, you'd know why," retorted his mate. "It's an old-fashioned block, with only four larger flats. They all know each other's business, or think they do. We'd be seen by someone, and they'd be sure to tell Wilson and describe us."

He turned to meet his mate's eye. "Shroeder's no fool," he went on, "The least suspicion and he'd be off in a flash. Would you like to explain such a cock-up to the boss ?."

"No way" replied Bodie, seeing the sense of the explanation. "So tonight it is, then." Then he had another idea.

"You could always ask your girl-friend, Marge, for a bit of help !," he said cheekily.

He quailed at the glare that came his way, and ducked away from the flying soggy dish-cloth that only just missed him.

Doyle turned back to studying the papers before him.

I know who could help, he thought to himself, Tim Biggenford ! For a moment he almost considered the idea. Then he quickly rejected it. If Tim was with them when they found something in Wilson's flat that confirmed he was Shroeder, it would go straight back to Ma Biggenford, who was burning to take revenge for the loss of her boy, and there was no saying what she and her boys might do.

No, they had to do this alone, and very carefully. He gave his total attention to planning it out. There was an old-style fire escape, leading to the top windows. That was promising, as Wilson's place was top storey at the back of the structure.

In addition, all the other residents were mainly on the elderly side, so it was to be expected that they would all be safely tucked up in bed, by the time they made their entrance. Perhaps with their hearing-aids on the bedside tables, he thought in an irreverent moment.

So midnight saw two darkly-clad figures, climbing stealthily up the rather rusty iron steps. Fortunately it was a cloudy night, with only occasional glimpses of a thin crescent moon. They had parked their car a little way away, and walked the last bit.

The only person they had seen was a late-night dog-walker. They had melted into a convenient shop doorway, as he had plodded along on the other side of the road, and neither the man nor the overweight lumbering spaniel, had noticed them.

They arrived at the top of the stairs. Doyle opened up the handy little toolbox attached to his belt and helped by the carefully shielded narrow beam of Bodie's torch, began the task of opening the door in front of him without leaving the slightest mark. It took quite a while, but for once Bodie curbed his usual restless impatience and remained silent.

At last the lock yielded to Doyle's sensitive fingers, and the door was ready to open. Now came a crucial moment. Was there a fancy alarm system ?

Doyle started to ease the door back, millimetres at a time, dreading to hear some warning sound. Nothing ! Heartened, he pushed a little harder, but all appeared to be well.

Soon there was enough space for him to ease his slim body through. He shielded his own torch with a cupped hand and looked round for any sign of an alarm system. He could see nothing to concern him.

If he had but known it, Wilson had been pestering the elderly landlord to fit something for quite a long time, but hadn't had any success, as the man said he couldn't afford it. Wilson was now tossing up between doing something himself, or looking for somewhere better to live.

Re- assured, Doyle pushed the door a little further open to allow Bodie to follow him in. He closed the door behind them, being careful to make no sound. They were in a small kitchen. A careful search round with a shielded torch showed nothing of interest. A few dishes piled on the draining-board suggested that Lannigan had got himself a meal before he set off for his cross Channel trip.

They moved on into the hallway, to face three inviting doors plus one that was half-open showing it to be the bathroom.

Bodie made to move away towards one of them, but Doyle stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"It's best if we stay together," he whispered, "then we can check that we're leaving no trace." Bodie nodded and followed him through the first doorway. It was a small lounge, furnished in a rather tired-looking manner, and with a very ancient T.V. in one corner. There was no desk to examine, just an open bookcase with nothing of much interest on its shelves.

So they turned back out and eyed the two doors which must surely be bedrooms. They opted for the one on the right first, and entered. They decided that this must be Lannigan's, as it was the smaller of the two It was a rather untidy place, with clothes draped on chairs, even though there appeared to be an adequate small wardrobe on the side opposite the window. Bodie moved to have a look at this, while Doyle tackled the small chest of drawers next to the bed. He found nothing but an untidy jumble of underwear and T-shirts,(some of them none too clean), and turned back towards his mate.

He let out a low whistle of surprise as he saw what Bodie was holding, and examining carefully with his torch.

He was clutching a high-powered rifle !

He moved back to add the light of his torch. "That's a bit unexpected, isn't it," he whispered. "Take care to put it back exactly as you found it."

Bodie nodded and turned back to the wardrobe, gently pushing aside the clothing that had masked his find and settling it into the same position as he had found it. He'd taken note before he had extracted it from its hiding-place. Then closing the door behind him, he followed Doyle into the final room awaiting their searching.

This was a very different room. It was excessively neat and tidy, not one item of clothing lying about anywhere. A quick look in the wardrobe revealed garments neatly arranged on their hangers, and a several pairs of shoes. A look in the small chest of drawers revealed neatly folded underwear, socks and ties.

"He's got rather a lot of clothes, hasn't he ?," said Bodie softly.

"Disguises for his clients, ?," suggested Doyle who had noticed that too.

"Now that's a thought," agreed his mate.

There was only one place left to look. In the far corner of the room there was what looked like the door of a large cupboard. Doyle approached it, tried the handle and met resistance. This door was locked. Interesting !

He fished in his pocket and brought out his so useful tool, a small bunch of skeleton keys. Guided by the finger of light from Bodie's torch, he began to try various ones in the lock. He worked slowly and very cautiously, as he didn't want to leave any tell-tale scratches. It seemed to take for ever, but at last his patience was rewarded with a low satisfying click, and the door was ready. He gently pulled it open. He and Bodie ran their torch beams over the contents and were totally astonished by what they saw.

They had really hit 'jackpot ' this time !

The old cupboard, with its four deep shelves was stuffed to the brim with everything that Shroeder required for his so-skilled business.

Down at the bottom were boots, neatly folded donkey jackets, and a pile of caps and woolly hats, all articles greatly favoured by lorry drivers on their often chilly runs.

The top shelf had wigs and other false hairpieces in a wide variety of shapes and colours. The one below had neat piles of documents, passports, visas, and other travel passes, plus various sheets of special paper and bottles of ink, perfect for reproducing any needed document.

The middle ones held what would have been 'paradise' for actors, a total range of greasepaint and artificial colouring material, sufficient to create any kind of disguise.

Their attention turned to the door itself. Pinned to the back of it were dozens of photographs, showing different angles, but all portraying drivers who worked for Wilson's. No doubt Shroeder used these to decide which of his well-paid men he could use when he disguised his client and smuggled him through the terminal.

For a moment, the pair just looked and looked in amazement, swinging their torch beams from shelf to shelf. Then Bodie recovered and went into action. He fished in an inner pocket and drew out a neat little 'spy-camera'. With the help of his partner's now carefully directed light, he took picture after picture, gathering all the details he could. Cowley is going to have a 'field-day' looking at all these, he thought exultantly.

At last he had all the little camera could manage, so he turned it off and hid it safely away. They hadn't touched or disturbed anything, so all that remained was to re-lock the cupboard door, and the door to the fire-escape, and take their treasure back to base.

It was with a huge feeling of relief that they slipped down the fire-escape, and walked the short distance back to where they had parked the car. They climbed in and relaxed. They hadn't fancied the task, but they had done it without too much difficulty, and the reward for their efforts had far exceeded their expectations.

"I reckon we've earned some 'Brownie points' this time," said Bodie, as he started up the car. "We'll be in the boss's good books for once, won't we ?."

The pair exchanged grins, well-satisfied with their night's work. They made their way back to Headquarters, but only stayed long enough to arrange for the film from the little camera to be developed. They stressed that the matter was urgent, and that the pictures should be delivered to Cowley as quickly as possible.

Then they shot off to return to their flats, hoping to catch some sleep before reporting the following morning.

Although they had only managed a few hours, both were in cheerful mood as they reported in and obeyed the order to report to Cowley's office.

The photographic department had evidently pulled out all the stops to get their task done. On entering, they found that their boss had cleared a large space on his usually well-loaded desk, and was studying the photographs spread out there. And for once he gave credit where it was due.

"Well done, lads," he said in an excited tone, "This was a real find !."

"We now know for sure who Wilson and Lannigan really are," said Bodie, "When do we pick them up, sir ?,"

"Steady on Bodie," said Cowley, "I know you are eager to get on, but I want to be sure that when we do take them, there are no loop-holes for them to wriggle out of. And the way to do that with any villain is to catch them red-handed. While you have been busy I have had some of our best girls working on something else. They have a special talent that the men lack."

He was looking straight at Bodie as he said this, for he knew it would make him bristle, his machismo offended. And indeed it did produce a scowl.

Doyle didn't look so bothered, but his curiosity was aroused. ""What talent is that, sir ?," he asked.

"They are all expert at getting elderly neighbours to gossip," replied Cowley, allowing a slight smile to cross his face.

Both agents looked puzzled, so he continued, "Most of them never have any visitors, so they have an inordinate interest in any that their neighbours have. Our girls have learned that Lannigan sometimes brought men to the flat."

"I see now," said Doyle, "most likely Shroeder's clients come to be disguised as drivers."

"Seems a fair assumption," agreed Cowley. "Now if we walk in on Shroeder actually doing one of his transformations ….."

"He wouldn't have a leg to stand on !," exclaimed Bodie triumphantly.

Cowley tapped a paper on his desk. "I've just had notification of another nasty villain who has been 'sprung'. It was up near Birmingham. A drug importer named Ferrani, with a wide range of contacts. The Met have been after him for ages, and had finally nailed him. They are very annoyed to have lost him again."

"So won't they be pleased if we give him back to them," said Bodie.

Now that he had put them in the picture, Cowley proceeded with his orders.

"I've already arranged surveillance," he said. "Phillips and Stuart are there, and they'll be your back-up. I want you two here at base, ready to go in at a moment's notice. I'm sure you can find something in Records to keep you busy."  
The pair left to follow his orders. Bodie was bubbling over with anticipation.

"I hope we don't have long to wait," he said hopefully. He was very keen to get going, but had to control his impatience through a long tedious day.

But their luck was in ! It was late afternoon. Both were in the rest room, writing up notes on some of the information they had un-covered in Records.

Suddenly there was a voice in the corridor."Doyle, Bodie !," came Cowley's urgent summons. The pair shot along the corridor and into their boss's office.

"It's Stuart," he said, handing the telephone receiver to Doyle. Turning to Bodie he said, "Sounds as if you're on."

Doyle was listening intently.

"Lannigan has just come in," came Stuart's steady voice. "There was a man with him in the car, crouched down as if he didn't want to be seen. They've both gone in."

"Great," said Doyle, "We're on our way. Be about 20 minutes if the traffic's not too heavy. Keep watch and call me in the car if there's any movement."

He handed the receiver back to Cowley, and hurried out closely followed by Bodie. Both were pleased at the thought of some action at last, and eager to get on with it.

Minutes later, Bodie was driving, pushing their car as fast as traffic would allow, and speeding whenever it was safe. Beside him, Doyle was re-checking both their guns, even though they had been ready all day.

"You and Stuart had better take the back," he suggested, "You'll remember the layout from there. Phillips can come to the front with me."

"Sounds about right," agreed Bodie. "Then we'll check and go in together. That back door will be easy."

"I can deal with the front too," said Doyle.

As it was a quiet residential area they had no trouble parking. As they came to the alleyway leading to the back, Stuart and Phillips emerged from the shadows and greeted them. Doyle repeated his proposed plan. They exchanged partners and parted company, Bodie following Stuart back towards the rear of the house, and Phillips hurrying after Doyle as he moved to the front.

The front door led into a hallway and stairs giving access to all four flats. It was only locked late at night, so that gave them no trouble and the two agents moved quietly in.

But they had only just set foot on the bottom stair, when Doyle's phone suddenly 'beeped'. He silenced it quickly, hoping none of the residents had heard it.

"What's up ?," he whispered.

"Slight snag," came Bodie's voice, also quietly. "The light's just come on in the kitchen. Lannigan's in there, clattering dishes about. There's no blinds, so he'll see us before we get to the top. He could warn the others."

Doyle thought for a moment, and then had an idea. "We'll get up to their door," he said, "You go up as far as is safe. Give me a short 'buzz'. I'll ring the door-bell. That should distract him. He might even come out to answer it, not that we'll wait that long."

And that was just how it was done.

Lannigan was startled by the sound of the door-bell. Not expecting anyone, he moved cautiously to the kitchen door and out into the hall, only to receive a further shock as the door before him shot open and two men charged in. He turned back to the kitchen, to be confronted by two more.

The strong kitchen light let him recognise one of them. Bodie, the man he'd tried to shoot !

He knew then that the game was over, and all resistance left him. He just stood still and let the man with Bodie grab hold of him.

Bodie dashed past him, and he and the curly-haired one went straight into the bigger bedroom. And what they saw did indeed please them.

They had caught their quarry in action.

There was a man they didn't know sitting in a chair by the open cupboard containing all Shroeder's ' tools of the trade'.

He had chosen a picture from his collection of driver's faces, and pinned it to the edge of a shelf, and had started work on transforming his client. He had obviously altered his hairstyle, and was now busy applying clever make-up to lighten the man's rather sallow complexion.

A donkey-jacket, a green scarf, and a flat cap lay on the bed, clearly the rest of the carefully-planned disguise.

Doyle stepped up to the seated man. "Mr. Ferrani," he said, "But not looking quite your usual self, I'm afraid."

Bodie's focus was on the other man. "Mr. Shroeder, I believe," he said, "We've waited a long time to meet you, several years in fact. But better late than never, eh !."

Shroeder gazed at his visitors as two more entered, one pushing a subdued looking Lannigan before him.

He knew who they all were, men from C.I.5, even before they showed their I.D. cards, and with the recognition came the realization that his game was over. They had all the evidence they needed. Oh, he knew of clever lawyers who would put up a good fight for him, but it wouldn't be enough. A long spell in prison awaited him, he knew, and he quailed at the prospect.

With a gesture of surrender he sat down on the bed.

Bodie and Doyle exchanged glances. Oddly enough, both were feeling a slight edge of disappointment. It had been almost too easy. The guns, that hadn't been in the least necessary had quickly been put away, as they had met with no physical resistance from either man or from Ferrani, who was scowling blackly, knowing that his brief spell of freedom was over.

The sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs reached their ears. Stuart moved first, shoving his prisoner into Phillips hands. He shot into the hallway, and was the first to greet the new arrivals, Cowley himself, with a contingent of police !

Having complete confidence in his agents ability to complete their task and capture all the wanted men, he had decided to pass the whole lot over to the police. Let them do the tedious and time-consuming work of collecting and collating the vast amount of evidence that would finally bring Shroeder to book. The police officers following him moved into the bedroom, and took all three of the men there into custody, hand-cuffing them and leading them out.

Cowley looked at his four agents, who were looking a bit surprised. "Your job's over," he said briskly. "Any trouble ?,

"No, sir," replied Doyle.

"Then consider yourselves 'off-duty'," said Cowley. "De-briefing tomorrow morning."

Dismissing them with a curt nod, he turned back to the policeman beside him

He had been impressed by the pictures of Shroeder's work cupboard, and was now leading the senior police officer into the bedroom to show it to him. Soon the pair were standing before the cupboard, amazed at the varied collection in front of them.

A bit taken aback by their abrupt dismissal, the four agents moved out of the flat, down the stairs, and out to find their cars.

"Time for a beer ?," queried Bodie.

"Just a quick one," said Stuart, "I've a bit of sleep to catch up on."

What the locals made of the four men who invaded their quiet little pub, we'll never know, but the truth would have astonished them, don't you think.

Some time later Bodie and Doyle were quietly driving back through familiar London streets making for home.

"I've been thinking," said Doyle suddenly.

"Dangerous !," quipped Bodie, in cheerful mood.

"Idiot," rejoined his mate. "No, I saw Lannigan give you an odd look, and I thought, what about that rifle of his. ? You got shot with a rifle on the river, remember."

Bodie shot his mate a calculating glance, as he let the thought sink in. "Lannigan ?," he said doubtfully. "What motive would he have had ?."

"If you recall," continued Doyle, "We'd just been down at the ferry terminal, asking about lorry firms. He might have thought we were onto them."

"It's a thought," replied Bodie. "I might try and get a check done on that rifle."

Needless to say, it wasn't long before the news of the arrests reached the Biggenford household. It was met with considerable pleasure, naturally.

"I knew C.I. 5 would do it," crowed Ma Biggenford exultantly. "Never underestimate them, lads," she warned. "They're very clever and can use very devious ways to get results."

She looked round her assembled brood and her expression hardened. "But we're not finished yet," she said. "It'll take a while, I know, but eventually those pair will be in prison somewhere, and we'll get to know."

"What do you mean, Ma ?," asked a puzzled Peter.

"Well," replied his mother, "Things can happen in prison, can't they ?. Remember your father. He never came out, did he?."


End file.
